One of the most popular stories told during the Christmas holidays is A Christmas
Carol by Charles Dickens. This tale weaves together the lives of Ebenezer Scrooge,
a hard-working businessman, and Bob Cratchit, an employee suffering from self-inflicted
troubles. Dickens would have us believe that Bob Cratchit started out as a
"victim" of Ebenezer Scrooge's chosen values. In reality, the only
"victim" in Dickens's story is Ebenezer Scrooge--unless, of course, you consider
trespassing, kidnapping, and brainwashing to be "valid" methods of persuasion.

At the beginning of this yarn, Dickens shares some of Scrooge's business practices.
Scrooge offered Cratchit market wages and benefits appropriate for that location and era.
Cratchit apparently found those wages and benefits suitable in that context, or he would
have sought employment elsewhere. Scrooge rebuked some unwelcome visitors who requested
unearned funds to help others for whose misery Scrooge was not responsible. Scrooge also
rejected the overall Christmas theme, a holiday tradition stolen from pagans and used to
celebrate the birth of a fellow who allegedly became the savior of the world.

Dickens's envy of successful, focused, ruthlessly honest businessmen like Ebenezer
Scrooge led him in fiction to punish Scrooge with visits from unworldly beings hell-bent
on altering his character. Dickens knew that there could be no earthly ways of
"fixing" Scrooge, so he resorted to supernatural intimidation to achieve his
ends. Ghosts of Jacob Marley as well as Christmas Past, Present, and Future committed home
invasions and kidnapped Scrooge to all manner of times and locations. After having been
figuratively beaten about the head with these visions, Scrooge finally suffered an
emotional breakdown and lost his dispassionate attention to numbers. In the end, he
allegedly became the role model of all England for manifesting the "spirit of
Christmas."

Dickens, of course, never offers us any hard figures, provides no accounting sheets,
mentions no profit-and-loss statements. All he gives us is a mushy, good-sounding fable
about the "softening" of a "hard heart." We never discover what
eventually becomes of Scrooge, whether he ends up on the streets because of his foolish
expenditures, or if he ruins his business because of his newfound maudlin altruism. For
over one hundred years, A Christmas Carol has successfully promoted a myth.
That myth condemns stingily saving one's money for one's own sake as less "good"
that spending it on those who have foolishly squandered their own capital.

How would I have written this story? I would have completely restructured it to open at
the time when Bob Cratchit was just beginning his employment under Scrooge and Marley. At
this time, Cratchit would be pondering the possibilities of marriage to his beloved. He
would seek wisdom from his older, more experienced, more successful supervisors. He would
learn of Scrooge's breakup with his girlfriend over the money issue. Scrooge and Marley
would warn Cratchit of the dangers of poverty and inform him of the joys of hard work and
plenty that benefit the self-disciplined.

That night, three visions would have visited Cratchit in his dreams. These
"spirits" would be clever metaphors for wealth of the past, present, and future.
The spirit of past wealth would be a young piglet just beginning to grow into something
wonderful. It would remind Cratchit of the hard work and dedication he had given to
himself over his young life as he prepared for a career in the clerical and accounting
fields. The spirit of present wealth would be a tender yearling showing signs of both
strength and vulnerability. The spirit of future wealth would be an emaciated sow with
dozens of freeloading piglets hanging off her teats and leeching her to death. She would
represent the future of Cratchit's wealth if he did not adopt a new, empowering values
system.

"Spirit," Cratchit would cry out, "is this the future as it must
be, or simply as it might be?" At that point, Cratchit would awaken and
joyfully realize that his future had yet to be written, and that the power of shaping his
own destiny was in his own hands.

Pure, unadulterated accounting would drive Cratchit's life from that day forward. He
would not allow himself the luxury of a single moment's evasion of the hard facts of
reality. He would press onward with his marriage to the love of his life, but would make
it absolutely clear where he stood on money and children. "Children," he would
tell his wife, "are a nicety, not a necessity. It is absolutely vital that we limit
the number we have to the number we can afford." Through the power of his accounting
skills, Cratchit could determine well before his marriage what sort of lifestyle they
could afford together given zero, one, two, or more children. He would also calculate what
methods he and his wife could use to achieve sexual gratification without intercourse.
Given the lack of reliable birth control in that era, such determinations would be of
absolute necessity if Cratchit intended to maintain a proper balance between money earned
and money spent.

The story would conclude many years later, as Cratchit rested comfortably in his home
with his wife and grown child. He would be peacefully counting his gold coins and writing
a thank-you note to his mentor and current partner, Ebenezer Scrooge, for the sage advice
he had given him prior to his marriage.

Sticking with facts rather than feelings has not been terribly popular in the liberal
arts, and "literary classics" such as A Christmas Carol have been
no exception. These "heart-warming" tales might pass with flying colors in the
English Department, but they get a big fat "flunk" in the Accounting Department.
Perhaps we could start a new genre, an offshoot of science fiction. We could call it
"accounting fiction," and could use that genre as a tool for inverting this
upside-down world of fiscal misuse.